


when all of the stars in the sky align

by gallantrejoinder



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crisis of Faith, Crowley and Aziraphale as godfathers, Dealing with Teenagers, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Character, Post-Apocalypse, Probably not the one you're thinking of though!, Warning for Internalised Transphobia, but it has a happy ending, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-05-13 12:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19251202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: It was approximately three years after the apoca-wasn’t that Crowley fell into a baptismal font.It was extremely uncool of him to do so, and years afterwards, he would deny that it had happened like that. All right, maybe he still had trouble with the whole owning four limbs thing after all the years of snakehood - still, that didn’t make himclumsy.But the point remained. Crowley fell into a literalvatof holy water.And survived.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dE-Tbd0LRPw/)

_Prophecy 10,777_

_Of_

_Agnes Nutter, Witch,_

Unread _._

 

“I see they whoose sols beecame entwined in fyre and woter,

Having listenned in cautione of mine owne words,

Prottected and enshrined in love for wonne another

Approacheing the church of mine desendents in peas, for theyr shall be danger none.”

 

 

~

 

Pepper had gone missing.

Well, to be more precise, Pepper had apparently run off. That should have had bugger-all to do with Aziraphale and Crowley, who were still busy, three years after the apoca-wasn’t, wining and dining one another until Crowley thought he was going to explode with romantic frustration. But Adam had called in a favour, and the one hobby Crowley and Aziraphale had outside of drinking alcohol, eating food, collecting books, and terrifying pedestrians, was being godfathers. And as Adam had sounded very worried on the phone – and possibly a tiny bit guilty too? – they hadn’t exactly been able to say _no_.

So Aziraphale made his reassurances and Crowley mumbled his own vague agreements, and they set off down to Tadfield. Crowley did wonder why Adam had called them specifically – it wasn’t as if they had special finding-people-really-easily powers, or else they might have been able to find _him_ a bit sooner three years ago. But they _were_ godfathers now, and looking for lost best friends was almost definitely in the job description.

That was how they ended up in the church. According to Pepper’s little sister, she’d last been seen moping around in the graveyard just outside Tadfield Lower chapel. After a cursory search of the graveyard yielded no results, Aziraphale volunteered to go inside alone – saying something about _wouldn’t want you burning your feet, my dear boy_ – but Crowley had followed him anyway, grumbling that the last time he’d left Aziraphale to walk into a church alone, he’d had to bring the place down around their ears.

Only as Crowley walked in, pre-emptively preparing to hop around for the next twenty minutes like an absolute pillock – well, he just didn’t.

Because the floor didn’t burn the soles of his feet. There were no sharp pins and needles pushing through the bottoms of his shoes. No blisters forming the longer he stayed in one spot. There wasn’t _anything_.

“Angel,” he said, stifling a laugh, “You’re never gonna believe this.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale turned around slowly, seemingly unable to drag his gaze away from some sixteenth century stone carvings, which he was probably already planning on researching when they got home.

Crowley stood very still, trying to get Aziraphale to pay attention. “No, really – Aziraphale, _look_.”

It took Aziraphale a few moments of staring blankly before his eyes widened and he gasped.

“Oh – _oh_!”

“Right!” cried Crowley, gleefully. “They _actually forgot to consecrate the church_!”

“My dear boy, I don’t know if …” But Aziraphale trailed off, staring at Crowley an utterly amazed expression on his face.

Crowley, at the time, didn’t think much of it. He was too busy gloating.

“Unbelievable! Can you imagine how big a cock-up the blessing ceremony must have been? They’ve _literally_ let the demons in!” Crowley cackled. The thought of some fourteenth century priest bollocksing up the blessing ceremony that badly was exactly the kind of mischief he almost wished _he_ had been responsible for.

He began to swagger around the church, hardly looking where he was heading. “Ha! Look at that! Foot here – foot there – and not a thing!”

Aziraphale stepped forward cautiously. “Crowley, my dear, I’m _really_ not sure that –”

But Aziraphale did not get to finish his sentence – because in the next moment, Crowley completely lost his feet from under him and fell backwards into the open baptismal font with a resounding _splash_.

He thought he heard Aziraphale cry out – it might have been Crowley’s name – but Crowley barely had time to process the sound before he was in the water.

The _holy_ water.

Oh, it was _cold_. He’d thought, if it ever came to it, that holy water would burn, like the hellfire it repelled. But the water drove needles of ice into his skin, soaking through his clothes almost instantly. The shock of terror that washed through him at the sensation crashed without warning into an opposing wave of grief at the realisation that was going to die and he never – he never _told_ Aziraphale, never _said_ –

But then he was being seized by his lapels and dragged from the water, coughing and sputtering. The muffled sounds of being submerged gave way to the sound of Aziraphale babbling, barely coherent. All Crowley could see through eyes blurred by water was the beige of Aziraphale’s coat, which was rapidly coming closer as Aziraphale pulled Crowley towards him. The water in Crowley’s nose made him cough all over Aziraphale’s shirt, but Aziraphale only held him closer.

Crowley quite rapidly had two realisations – One, that Aziraphale was crying, which was nice. Crowley had always liked to think that Aziraphale would miss him if he died. And two, that he was … unaccountably, maybe even miraculously, _fine_.

Well, his throat was sore from all the coughing. And his sinuses had been irritated into a _state_. Not to mention he was freezing. But – somehow, some way, he was covered in holy water, had been literally _immersed_ in it, and he was completely unharmed.

“Aziraphale,” he said hoarsely, “Let go of me.”

Aziraphale froze. “Crowley?” His voice was unsteady.

“I’m fine, just – give me a bit of breathing space, yeah?”

Aziraphale let go, and Crowley pushed himself back to take a few deep breaths. Technically speaking he didn’t need to, but it felt good all the same. He’d lost his glasses somewhere in the font. Glancing back at it, he glared. Who in Heaven built the thing _into_ the floor? Without a _lid_? The water inside was just settling again after he’d sloshed it around, but he kept his eye on it, lest it should suddenly become holy again.

“Crowley,” came a voice from behind him – and Crowley was startled to realise how affected it sounded.

“Oh – oh, angel, I’m fine,” said Crowley, turning back to Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s face was – Satan, there was only one word for it, but it was devastated. Crowley attempted to smile, bring a bit of levity to the situation. “Must have forgotten to bless it with the rest of the church. Lucky, eh?”

“You – you _stupid_ demon! I thought you were _dead_!”

And then Crowley found himself pressed into Aziraphale’s chest once more. It was actually pretty nice if he was honest with himself – which was a painful thing, when it came to Aziraphale, _honesty_ , and rather unbefitting of a demon – but he allowed it, for a moment more.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, and it came out softer than he meant it to.

Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath. Crowley heard it, with his ear pressed to Aziraphale’s chest, as if it was his own.

“I was trying to say,” Aziraphale murmured, eventually, “that I think – I think this place _is_ blessed.”

Crowley pulled back with a frown. “What?”

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s shoulders and wrung his hands. “I don’t know how it’s possible! But – well, I _am_ an angel. I can tell with these sorts of things. This place is blessed. The ground is consecrated. And the water – Crowley, I swear to you, that is holy water.”

Crowley looked at the font. Then back to Aziraphale. Then back to the font.

He made a very strange noise, like a strangled duck.

“Well – no, obviously, ’cos – I mean, that _can’t_ be right –”

Aziraphale tentatively crawled a little closer to the edge of the font, and swept his hand through the water cautiously. He swallowed.

“I’m afraid, my dear, it is.”

They both sat there in silence, Crowley’s jacket dripping onto the floor. The noise echoed in the empty church.

“I don’t know what that … means,” Crowley admitted, after a while.

“Nor do I,” Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley had, over the centuries, pondered quite a lot of questions regarding the nature of Falling –what it took to become a demon, what sacrifices were required to remain an angel. But he had never prepared for something like this. It froze him to the bone, to suddenly have his understanding of the world upended. It felt a little bit like Falling, but less painful, just – cold.

“We should find Pepper,” he said, clearing his throat.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue, but Crowley couldn’t bear to hear him say something like _At a time like this?_

“Come on, angel, we promised Adam,” Crowley pleaded, unable to stop the creeping edge of panic in his voice.

Aziraphale shut his mouth and looked at Crowley with something like – well, it was _sappy_ , anyway, so Crowley didn’t look at it too closely.

“All right,” Aziraphale said, and the words were understanding.

Crowley had no doubt that the second they found Pepper, they’d be straight back to London to have a Discussion. But they’d promised Adam, and he really couldn’t handle thinking about what had just happened yet. He had time. He was immortal. He could put off this little revelation for a few decades, surely?

Never mind that he’d never been any good at being patient before.

 

~

 

They found Pepper about an hour later, trudging home. Her boots were covered in mud and she looked, in a word, miserable. Crowley understood how she felt.

“Oh, Pepper! Thank heavens. We were all so worried. Are you quite all right, my dear?” Aziraphale hurried forward to take her arm, but she shoved him off.

“I’m _fine_ ,” she muttered. “Did Adam send you lot?”

“Matter of fact he did,” said Crowley, frowning at her. Whatever was wrong was clearly still wrong. “You all right?”

Pepper continued trudging, and Crowley and Azirphale fell into step beside her.

“I said I’m fine.” She quickened her pace a bit. “And it was stupid to call you two. You lost _him_ , dunno why he thinks you can find _me_.”

“Well as it turns out we have, so shall we tell Adam you’re feeling better?” Aziraphale gave a hopeful smile, and Crowley cringed.

Pepper rounded on him with an accusatory finger. “Don’t you go telling him _anything_! He’s not my friend and he doesn’t have the right to know anything about me!”

Crowley blinked. “If you’re sure,” he said, mildly.

“I bloody well am! And I blocked him on Snapchat anyway.” Pepper attempted to look dignified and not as if she were sulking, but Crowley wasn’t convinced.

Crowley looked over Pepper’s head at Aziraphale, who mouthed the word _Snapchat?_ at him in utter confusion. Crowley just shook his head. They didn’t have time to get into that.

He sighed. “Look, we just wanted to check up and make sure you’re okay. We’re leaving now.”

“Good! Leave me alone!”

Oh, _teenagers_. Crowley had made such a point about never interacting with them outside of business for centuries, yet here he’d ended up.

Pepper stomped off towards home, and Crowley stood, watching her go. Aziraphale frowned at her rapidly exiting back, but Crowley just put a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on. She’s fine.”

Aziraphale finally wrenched himself away from worrying about Pepper to turn and look at Crowley. But as he did, Crowley remembered the thing that had happened about an hour ago and how now they were going to have to talk about it, and he suddenly wished they’d been a bit more persistent with young Pepper.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said carefully, “I think the time may have come for you to show your face downstairs once more.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Prophecy 9,387_

_Of_

_Agnes Nutter, Witch,_

Unread _._

 

“A yong childe of Taddesfield shall in payn entreet

The son of Satan to love in frendshipp, for wich

A principalitee and fallen wonne will interveen

Tho hellfyre shall be tested upon theyr skins beforre.”

 

 

~

 

It was a daft idea from the start. Of course it was – it was all Aziraphale’s idea, and Crowley knew he’d never let himself get into such a scrape if it wasn’t for the angel. When they’d done their little trick with the hellfire and holy water the first time, they’d both been _abundantly_ clear that they wanted no more to do with Heaven or Hell. In fact, “Crowley” was quite theatrical about it. So there were bound to be questions when Crowley strolled right on back downstairs again after a measly three years.

Well, to be more precise, Crowley took the elevator down. He put a little extra _oomf_ into his sauntering once he exited, because he’d be blessed if he wasn’t going to keep up appearances. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had heard from their bosses since they pulled the whole thing off, which probably meant that they had caused quite the stir. Crowley certainly hoped that was the case. He needed to look intimidating, showing his face around these parts.

He frowned at a nearby minor entity, whose mouth had dropped open at the sight of him. Must have been impressive because the thing squeaked and scuttled off down a side hallway. _Good_. That was – good, yes.

It went on that way for a while, various demons unknowingly spotting Crowley, looking shocked, sprinting, squirming, and crawling away. Crowley just hoped they weren’t going after the big man himself. Might be he was still pissed off. No, he couldn’t afford to think about that just then. He kept walking – at quite a relaxed pace, so nobody could say he wasn’t entirely sure of himself, because he definitely was – towards Beezlebub’s office.

Inside, he would find a torch of everlasting hellfire. He was planning to steal it.

Technically speaking, he could just summon some hellfire. He was a demon, so it should have been easy – they could all do it. Or, well – he – _had been_ a demon. He thought he was _still_ a demon, but … despite the fact that it terrified him, he couldn’t really be sure, could he? No demon was immune to holy water.

But nor did he feel Risen. What little Crowley remembered about being an angel did not bear any resemblance to his current existence – there was no Heavenly host to connect to, no vague sense of all-encompassing love, no stuffy, overbearing instinct of duty. He felt exactly like he always had, which was why they needed to … experiment. Test things out a bit. Sure, he was immune to holy water now – or at least, that particular batch from the church. But if he wasn’t immune to hellfire anymore, then they’d have a better idea what they were dealing with.

(Well, no, actually, they’d still have no idea. But at least they could be sure he wasn’t Risen after all.)

Beezlebub’s office door loomed before Crowley quicker than he’d’ve liked, but there was nothing for it now but to go in and get the whole thing over with.

He was just raising a hand to the doorknob when a nervous voice from behind him blurted out a warning.

“I – I wouldn’t go in if I were you.”

Crowley turned slowly towards the voice, and saw Dagon standing behind him, her posture rigid. Her eyes widened as he met her gaze.

“… Sir,” she hastily added.

Huh. Aziraphale really had done a number on them. Crowley felt a little gooey at the thought of Aziraphale terrifying Dagon into submission, but he quashed it immediately. He had business to attend to.

“… And why would that be, Dagon?” He lowered his voice until it sounded just the right amount of dangerous.

Dagon’s eyes flicked between the door and Crowley’s face.

“Lord Beezlebub is … indisposed.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, though she couldn’t see it through the glasses. “And what if I were to tell you I’m not here for _Lord_ Beezlebub? And that I don’t need her permission to go where I like?”

Dagon bit her lip, looking for all the world as if she really wanted to be anywhere else. Crowley fought the urge to grin in triumph. Finally Dagon made a stressed noise and wrung her hands in a very un-demonic gesture.

“Oh, don’t say I didn’t warn you!” she cried, and with that, she turned tail and fled, slipping into yet another of the labyrinthine passageways that made up Hell.

Crowley stared. And then stared some more.

Well, shit. Whatever he found in that room, he was just going to have to hope his new reputation carried him through. Couldn’t be seen walking away _now_. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the door and opened it.

Inside, the fluorescent lighting of Hell was no less oppressive. Things scuttled in the corners of the room, and piles of half-mouldy paperwork were strewn haphazardly around the room. Most of the actual bookshelves were empty, although one contained a fishbowl with a dead fish inside. At the centre of the room, a large, black desk stood, imposing in all its bad taste. Atop the desk sat Crowley’s quarry – a dish burning with hottest hellfire.

Crowley smiled at the sight of it, and it was a terrible smile.

He’d been practising.

He stepped forward, pulling from his inner coat pocket a lamp that Aziraphale had bought – not miracled, who knew what would happen – specifically for this purpose. But as Crowley moved towards the desk, the floorboards creaked beneath his feet – and he heard a noise.

It was difficult to identify at first. Crowley blinked, unable to place it. But then it came again, and –

And _Beezlebub_ , of all beings, suddenly stood up from behind the desk, hair askew (well, more askew than usual.) She looked – well, if Crowley was being totally honest, completely flustered. Her cheeks were pink, and for some reason she wasn’t manifesting as many bug bites as she usually did.

“Crowley!”

Her voice was higher than Crowley remembered it being. “Erm,” he said.

Beezlebub stared at him. Surreptitiously, she adjusted her belt. Crowley glanced down at the movement, and noticed her fly was undone.

“What do you – that is – are you after something?” She looked _nervous_.

What had Crowley walked into?

Didn’t matter. He had business to attend to and he didn’t want to spend longer down here than necessary.

“Hellfire,” he explained casually. “I need it direct. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

Still Beezlebub stood there completely frozen. She shook her head slowly. “…No.”

“Good. Good.”

Crowley walked forwards slowly, the candle from the lamp in his outstretched hand. He had to be careful how he handled this – couldn’t look like he was afraid the fire might burn him. Then he’d really be in trouble. He did it quickly – holding the candle to the embers just long enough for them to catch, before shutting it away in the lamp again. Then he put it back in his inner jacket pocket, which Aziraphale had miracled into being just a little bit bigger on the inside.

“Right then,” he said – or rather, he tried to say. Because at that exact second, the desk sneezed.

Or rather, somebody _under_ the desk. Crowley watched Beezlebub’s face contort into a grimace of pure shame.

A very, very amusing thought entered Crowley’s head.

“… Have you got someone in here, Beezie?”

This was just too good. Demons didn’t typically go in for lust on a personal level, but who knew, maybe Crowley could have a bit of extra dirt on Beezlebub for the next time he needed a favour. The thought of it was almost enough to cheer him up.

“No,” Beezlebub said, too quickly.

“You have!” Crowley laughed. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day. Come on, come out! Who’s worked their way up the ladder then? _Lord_ Beezlebub is a bit ambitious for my liking, but then –”

The Archangel Gabriel stood up from behind the desk, and Crowley stopped talking.

He was a little ruffled, was Gabriel. His suit was – wrinkled. Shirt untucked, and his hair stuck up in all directions. He looked for all the world as if somebody had been giving him the ride of his life.

He looked at Crowley, and Crowley looked at him.

In Crowley’s long immortal life, there were a lot of habits he’d picked up from humans. Disco. Alcohol. Gardening. Taking the Lord’s name in vain wasn’t one of those habits, though – too much risk involved. But on this day, Crowley finally understood the urge inherent in humans to cry out, when confronted with something truly awful, the phrase _Oh. My. Holy. God_.

“Crowley,” said Gabriel, stiffly.

“Gabriel,” Crowley replied. His voice had gone all high-pitched with shock.

The three of them stood there for a very long moment.

“I trust … that this won’t be making its way upstairs.” Gabriel looked as if he was fighting the urge to tug as his collar nervously.

“Or down,” Beezlebub added on quickly. “Beyond … myself.”

Crowley paused, considering. However disgusted he might have been feeling, this was … useful information.

“Hmm,” he hummed, thoughtfully, “I don’t much sssssee the point in hanging around these parts when I don’t need to. Not anymore. And I certainly don’t have any reason to be venturing _Up_ stairsssss …” He hoped, at least. No, nope, he’d been over this, he would _know_ if he was Risen.

Gabriel sagged with relief. “Of course. Then there’s no reason to –”

“Can’t say the sssssame for Aziraphale, though,” Crowley added, casually tucking his hands into his pockets. “He might find his way Upstairsssss. If he was in need. And you know us demons, terrible gossips – almost as bad as your lot. I can’t guarantee he won’t be hearing about what a _delicioussss_ scoop I’ve had from Downstairsssss.”

“Crowley.” Beezlebub spoke in a low, warning tone, just a hint of buzzing beneath.

Crowley held up his hands. “But I’m sure he’d never breathe a word. And neither will I! … For now.”

He stared them down just a few moments longer. They stood as rigid as mannequins in a shop window, waiting to see what Crowley would say next. But Crowley simply turned very slowly, and, after checking that the lamp was still safely in his pocket, left the room – closing the door firmly behind him.

It was only once that door was closed – and the door of the elevator as well – that Crowley allowed himself to make the face of utter disgust he’d been repressing for the last five minutes.

Beezlebub and _Gabriel_? _Beezlebub_ and Gabriel? What kind of revolting kinks must they have in common to make _that_ work? It didn’t bear thinking about. Or it wouldn’t have, but Crowley was horrified to discover that of all things, he was feeling … envious.

Not of either of _them_ , obviously. He fought the urge to stick his tongue out in revulsion. It was just that – well, how come _that_ angel and demon could make it work, out of all the angels and demons, but Crowley still couldn’t –

No. Nope. No time to think about that. No _point_ to thinking about that. At least not while there was nothing he could do about it. Not while he wasn’t even sure what he was anymore, and that was a thought enough to make him hurry things up a bit, stepping out of the elevator and walking briskly towards the Bentley.

 

~

 

When Crowley pulled the lamp out of his pocket, Aziraphale looked at it apprehensively before very gingerly taking it out of Crowley’s hand and placing it in the centre of the room. They sat down cross-legged before it.

“I’m … not really sure how to proceed,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Me neither,” Crowley sighed. “If I was sure it wouldn’t hurt us …”

_Us_. The two of them. They might both be hurt by this; they might now have this thing in common.

“I know,” said Aziraphale. “But … we must try something. It’s – unprecedented. If it doesn’t hurt you, then perhaps we can assume the incident in Tadfield was a fluke. It may be that Adam had something to do with it. He might well have … _changed_ the place, three years ago. And if it does hurt you …”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Crowley kept the edge of fear from his voice rather well, he thought.

“All right,” Aziraphale said softly, “If you’re sure.”

Crowley didn’t bother answering that. Of course he bloody wasn’t. But he leant forwards all the same, carefully pulling the still-lit candle out of the lamp. The flame crackled – it was not a normal flame, of course, and the only reason it hadn’t instantly evaporated all of the wax around it was because Aziraphale was miracling said wax. Aziraphale was not immune to hellfire of course, but there were ways around these things – the wax was one of them. It was earthly, and it only needed a little nudging to hold on to its shape.

Crowley took a breath, and allowed his eyes to flicker up to Aziraphale’s face for just a moment. Aziraphale’s gaze was fixed on Crowley’s outstretched hand. He looked – frightened. Oddly, that comforted Crowley.

He held his hand over the flame – and lowered it. It was warm. It almost tickled.

And it passed straight through his body as if it was nothing.

Crowley was about to let out a sigh of relief (because he wasn’t going to consider the fact that this left them even more lost than they were before), when Aziraphale gave a cry of sudden, unadulterated terror, and slapped Crowley’s hand away from the flame.

“Shit!” Crowley snatched his hand back, then he realised how close _Aziraphale’s_ hand must now be to the flame. “Careful, Aziraphale –” He looked down, and his voice died in his throat.

At that moment, Crowley felt peculiarly like he was being discorporated. Or at least what he imagined being discorporated would feel like – like he was outside himself, floating far away from the current scene. He must have been, in fact, because what was happening before him was impossible.

Aziraphale’s hand was frozen over the flame. Or rather, it was frozen _around_ the flame, because the hellfire had passed _through_ Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale, somehow, was completely unharmed.

“Oh, fuck,” whispered Aziraphale.

Crowley was inclined to agree.

“That’s not meant to happen,” Aziraphale said, in an oddly calm voice. “How strange. Crowley, did you know that would happen?”

“No,” Crowley replied. It was all he was capable of.

“It tickles. That’s odd. It’s very warm. Crowley, the hellfire is very warm, did you know? Of course you know. You’re a demon. And I’m – and we – Crowley, I think I’m touching the hellfire?”

“You are.”

Aziraphale made a strange noise which sounded like it might once have been a very nervous laugh. “Oh! Oh, well then, that’s –” He looked up at Crowley, suddenly stricken. “That’s _terrible_!”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale’s hand for just a moment longer before tentatively lowering his on top. Aziraphale still hadn’t moved, so the flame passed through both their palms. It _was_ warm. Crowley curled his fingers around Aziraphale’s unthinkingly.

“I’m starting to think Agnes was having a good laugh at our expense, angel,” he said softly.

Crowley looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes, and was startled to see tears there. Aziraphale’s mouth trembled as he spoke.

“Do you think – does this mean that I’ve – that I’ve –”

Crowley tightened his grip, shaking his head vigorously. “No. No, you haven’t Fallen. You would know. It would hurt.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with such an agony in his eyes that Crowley wished he hadn’t said anything.

“It would?”

Crowley nodded. He didn’t speak – couldn’t trust his voice.

“And … you haven’t Risen,” Aziraphale added, voice a little steadier. “I expect that too would be obvious.”

“So the question … The question isn’t about _me_ , it’s …”

Aziraphale turned over his hand to grip Crowley’s in kind. “What are _we_?”

 

~

 

They pondered the question. In fact, they spent the next three days alternately pondering and arguing about it. Aziraphale had not Fallen, that much was clear, but neither could he really be said to be an angel anymore. And Crowley had not Risen, but he couldn’t simply be a demon who felt _nothing_ when soaked in holy water. It was like allergies – angels were inherently allergic to hellfire, and demons were inherently allergic to holy water. The reaction they had when they encountered their particular poison just happened to be closer to the anaphylaxis side of things than the mild sneezing and itchy nose side.

In any case, things were not settled by any means when Adam called. And while the timing was bad, Crowley couldn’t bring himself to hang up on the kid. Especially because, as he’d learned, teenagers didn’t call unless it was an emergency. It was all about texting and emojis, these days.

(He sort of wished he’d thought of that. He was working on something to do with mandatory read notifications though, so it was fine.)

In any case, whenever Adam called, Crowley always answered. He’d been living in Aziraphale’s bookshop for a while, though unofficially, and Aziraphale was in the room with him when the call came through. He switched the phone onto speaker mode and set it down on a table.

“Hullo Adam,” he said, before wandering over to Aziraphale. He tugged on the angel’s sleeve to get his attention, since he was still wrapped up in a book. “Hey. Adam’s on the phone.”

Aziraphale looked delighted, and took his spectacles off, smiling. “Oh, Adam! How are you? Are things any better with Pepper?”

“Well, no, to be honest.” Adam sounded exhausted. “I keep trying to talk to her but she doesn’t want to talk to me. She said I didn’t ‘get’ it.”

“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation,” said Aziraphale, sensibly.

“And if there’s not, let us know. We’ll miracle her up a motorbike.”

“ _Crowley_!”

Adam laughed, but it didn’t sound like his heart was in it. “I guess. It’s just, I already told mum about it, but she wasn’t any help at all. And Wensleydale and Brian are useless, they just keep not wanting to take a side. I was sort of hoping maybe you could talk to her? Since you’re all – supernatural, and stuff, maybe you could like, read her mind or something?”

Crowley came to sit on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair and shot a look at him which could have meant many things – _oh dear, how do we break this to him, you can take the antichrist out of the boy, but can you really_ – in simple terms, ‘yikes.’ Aziraphale only shifted slightly where he sat, though the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

“I don’t think she’d take too kindly to that,” Crowley warned.

Aziraphale hummed in agreement. “And nor would it be wise for you to attempt anything of the sort. Your powers may not be quite what they ought to have been, but they still require a great deal of caution.”

“It might help,” Crowley pressed, “if you’d actually tell us what you _said_ to her, Adam.”

There was a very long silence on the other end of the line. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley reproachfully, as if to say _See? Now he’ll never trust us. We’re supposed to be cool godfathers, not pushy parents_. (Well, he probably didn’t think that last part.)

Crowley simply raised his eyebrows and waited.

Finally, Adam sighed. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I really didn’t think it’d upset her, ‘cos she’s always going on about feminism and power to women and stuff.”

Uh-oh. Wherever Adam was leading, Crowley thought, it couldn’t be good.

“… And what, precisely, did you say to her about it?” Aziraphale’s tone seemed to mirror Crowley’s trepidation.

“I just said that – well, we were talking about whether or not there’s a difference between a barber and a hairdresser, ‘cos me and Wensleydale and Brian haven’t seen a hairdresser since we were little, and I said, ‘Pepper, you’re a girl, you’d know.’ And then she started yelling at me about making assumptions and stuff and then she started crying and she left!”

Crowley saw Aziraphale glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but he simply shrugged in response. This was beyond his repertoire. “You sure that’s all you said? You called her a girl?”

“Yeah!” Adam sounded quite indignant now. “And she just lost it, and she left, and she won’t talk to me! I dunno what I actually _did_!”

“… Interesting,” Crowley mused.

“Peculiar indeed,” said Aziraphale. “Perhaps we _could_ try to have a chat with her. There really is only so much we can do, Adam, but if you think it would help …”

“Yeah,” Adam sighed. “I’m sorry about all the mind-reading stuff. I knew it was daft but …”

“It’s fine,” Crowley reassured him, not wanting Adam to feel overmuch guilt for the idea. It wasn’t like he meant for the two of them to _hurt_ her. It was just a teenager approaching a problem like … well, a teenager. A teenager who used to be the antichrist. “We’ll head over tomorrow. And if it all goes tits-up, we’ll get her that motorbike.”

“Crowley!” The scandalised tone in Aziraphale’s voice might have been in reference to the swearing in front of Adam or to the motorbike, but Crowley just grinned.

“All right. See you then, I guess.”

“See you then,” Crowley signed off cheerily.

Adam hung up, and Crowley turned his head to Aziraphale, who looked rather cross.

“Oh, come on.” Crowley rolled his eyes and stood, scooping his phone off the table. “We need a distraction. I’m tired of arguing back and forth about things.”

“We could do research,” Aziraphale suggested, sniffing. “Or – or reach out to – no, we couldn’t do that, but –”

“Face it, angel,” Crowley said, shaking his head. “We’re on our own for this one. And we’re not gonna figure it out in the next twenty-four hours.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMK what you thought!!! God writing in different tenses sure is a Thing I Do Now I guess.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley wasn’t exactly looking forward to lugging it all the way to Tadfield again – his plants were probably getting well above themselves in his absence – but they owed it to Adam, and besides, it wasn’t likely that they were going to find out what was wrong with them both in London. Not that that was going to stop Aziraphale from trying. Even once they were both in the Bentley, Aziraphale was still deeply absorbed in an esoteric text.

“Give it a rest, angel,” Crowley sighed, before gunning the accelerator to wake them both up a bit.

Aziraphale made a startled squeak, snapping the book shut to grip the back of his seat. “Crowley!”

“I’m serious,” Crowley said. “You need to put that thing away and get your head on straight. Come on. What do you think’s wrong with Pepper?”

“I don’t know why or how you expect me to simply give up trying to understand what’s happened to us in the face of Adam’s bickering, but I completely refuse.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I know you care about that lot, you can’t fool me. You’re a big old softie for Them. You gave Wensleydale one of _your_ books last Christmas.”

“It was a useful tool for his future career,” Aziraphale sniffed. “And anyway, you seem very concerned about Them for a –” Here he cut himself off.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale with raised eyebrows. “A demon?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Well, we don’t really know if you are one anymore. It wouldn’t be appropriate to say.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk about this.”

“How can you not? I haven’t Fallen. You haven’t Risen. And yet we remain immune to the weapons created to destroy our kinds. It’s unprecedented.”

“Is it really, though? Unprecedented? How do _you_ know?”

Aziraphale sputtered. “My dear, surely you cannot be suggesting – It’s hardly _ineffable_ –”

“Why not?” Crowley spotted the first of several signs directing them towards Tadfield and took the next turn a little harder than necessary. “I thought the whole point was that no one actually knows what the ineffable plan is. You certainly made a big point of that with Gabriel.”

The mention of Gabriel reminded Crowley of what he’d seen in Hell, and he realised with a start that he’d never actually told Aziraphale about it.

“Speaking of which,” he continued, before Aziraphale could get a word in, “You’ll never guess who I saw while I was Downstairs.”

“What, Michael again?”

“Nope,” Crowley said, allowing the _p_ to pop. “Gabriel. Looking mighty dishevelled, hiding under Beelzebub’s desk. And _she_ was looking none too put together either, not that she ever does.”

Crowley spotted the confused look on Aziraphale’s face out of the corner of his eye.

“Sex, angel. They were fucking.”

There was a moment of silence, during which Crowley glanced at Aziraphale. What he saw pass across Aziraphale’s face he couldn’t quiet say – a mixture of horror, disgust, anger, and finally, oddly, _hurt_.

“You – surely not,” he said stiffly. “You must have misinterpreted.”

“I did _not_ ,” Crowley sputtered, feeling quite miffed. “Gabriel even tried to make me promise I wouldn’t tell Upstairs what I’d seen. Beelzebub tried it too, but I think Downstairs might already have caught wind of it – at least, Dagon seemed pretty sure I shouldn’t interrupt them, so …”

“Gabriel,” said Aziraphale faintly, “and Beelzebub. Are … together.”

“ _Together_ is a stretch. I can’t say I saw much evidence of a _relationship_. But frequently bonking? Yes.”

The silence stretched into the distance as they continued along the road. Crowley didn’t know how to interpret it, so he kept his eyes on the road, Tadfield getting closer with each passing second at 90 miles per hour. He hadn’t expected the news to throw Aziraphale off this much. Admittedly, he’d had his own brief surge of frustration that Gabriel and Beelzebub, of all beings, would manage to sort something out while he was still begging for scraps at Aziraphale’s table like – like a pathetically loyal dog. Like _Dog_ , actually. A demonic hellhound reduced to a thing which only wants for a little affection. But the point was that Crowley expected that much of himself, after all this time. He could put on a brave face, he could remind Aziraphale many, many times that he was a demon and incapable of love, but then –

He wasn’t a demon anymore, was he?

– Not important, not the point – the point was – was that –

Aziraphale was upset that Gabriel and Beelzebub were doing the old horizontal full frontal, and Crowley couldn’t really think of _why_.

He cleared his throat. “You all right, angel?”

“Fine,” Aziraphale whispered. “Just fine.”

Crowley allowed himself to pause, take a moment to consider whether it was worth pushing the point. “You don’t exactly sound it.”

“I’m _fine_ , Crowley, really,” Aziraphale insisted. “We’re getting near Tadfield now. Do you have any thoughts on what’s got poor Pepper in such a scrap?”

As far as changes in topic went, that one wasn’t subtle. But then, Crowley sometimes wondered whether Aziraphale had an ounce of subtlety in his body that didn’t belong to his palate. So he kept driving, and allowed the conversation to move on, and put his burning curiosity to rest – at least for the foreseeable future.

As it turned out, the foreseeable future wasn’t a very long time. They arrived at Tadfield within the next twenty minutes, and from there it was simply a matter of waiting Pepper out. They tried knocking on her mother’s door, but a young girl – Pepper’s little sister, Crowley assumed – answered and told them in no uncertain terms she wouldn’t be letting two strangers into the house, let alone _men_. Aziraphale opened his mouth to correct her; they were not men, simply men-shaped beings of celestial origin for whom gender was simply a human custom they affected to walk amongst humanity – but the girl slammed the door in their faces at that point. So, waiting down the street in the Bentley it was.

They didn’t talk about much while they waited. The weather, Adam’s powers, Pepper, the old argument over whether they should go back and explain things to poor Warlock a bit. It all felt so unimportant that Crowley could hardly stand it, and he wondered when he had starting wanting this – wanting an explanation as to what was happening for them.

“Angel,” he said softly, into the silence that had fallen.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Aziraphale burst out. “I mean – you shouldn’t call me that. We don’t know that I am, anymore.”

Crowley blinked. He shifted where he sat, so that his arm was draped across the back of the seat. He felt restless, impatient. Moreso than he had been in – oh, centuries. He’d long since accepted that there were things he couldn’t have and things he couldn’t be, and now he was taking holy water baths, so really, what did it all matter? What did any of the old rules have to do with this?

“Maybe that’s not how I mean it,” he said, unthinking.

In the ensuing, very pregnant pause, during which Crowley very deliberately avoided looking in Aziraphale’s direction, Crowley felt himself begin to panic – but the process was interrupted by the timely arrival of Pepper, walking up the road before them.

“Oh look! There she is, let’s go, come on, ang– Aziraphale,” he blurted out hastily, before scrambling to exit the Bentley.

Crowley didn’t look back as he strode up to Pepper, who was once more trudging along – he briefly wondered if she went anywhere without trudging. Apparently having heard them coming up behind her, Pepper turned to them quite miserably, probably to tell the two men following her to _fuck off, she had the right to walk about the streets of her hometown without being harassed_ , but when she saw them, her eyes widened.

“ _You_ ,” she growled. “Bloody well knew he’d get you two involved again.”

Aziraphale gave a half-hearted wave in Crowley’s peripheral vision.

Crowley smiled grimly. “Evening, Pepper. Any chance we could have a chat?”

He braced himself for a fight, but to his surprise, Pepper’s shoulders slumped.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Okay. Come on.”

And she turned and began walking back from whence she’d come.

Crowley turned to Aziraphale, but he looked as mystified as Crowley. Crowley shrugged. What else were they gonna do?

They found themselves following Pepper at a leisurely pace, patiently waiting for her to get to wherever she was going. Crowley began to feel antsy when they passed by the church, but Pepper led them around the main building and out towards the graveyard. Just beyond the boundary line was a small headstone, faded and worn smooth over the years – but Pepper sat down by it as if it was an old friend.

“This is Agnes Nutter’s grave,” she announced, when Crowley and Aziraphale stopped, standing awkwardly before her. Crowley opened his mouth to say something like, _bloody Hell_ , but Pepper interrupted him before he could. “Well, go on. Sit down.”

Crowley surreptitiously miracled the ground dry and clean where he and Aziraphale sat. He wasn’t intending to let Aziraphale’s coat get dirty now, not after all the work he’d put in to protecting it.

“Agnes Nutter, you say?” Aziraphale asked, looking surprised. “I wouldn’t have thought she’d be afforded a plot quite so close to the church.”

“Anathema says they buried her just outside the consecrated bit. And they wouldn’t have had a grave at all as there was so little of her left, but her daughter had a headstone made for her anyway, and buried some of her belongings where her body should be. Supposedly there’s a final prophecy meant for a stranger who’ll rob her grave. Last time someone tried though, they only got two feet down before dying of a heart attack.”

Crowley hummed. Interesting. He’d robbed quite a few graves in his time. And he had no chance of dying of a heart attack. _And_ he was a stranger to Tadfield, technically speaking. (But he wouldn’t be letting Pepper know about any of that.)

“Fascinating,” Crowley drawled. “But what’s all this got to do with Adam?”

Pepper glared at him, fiddling with a piece of grass. “I was _getting_ to that.”

“Do forgive him, dear,” said Aziraphale gently. “We’re here to listen.”

Pepper took a moment to frown at the two of them very thoroughly before continuing. “Anyway. I was just … I mean … It’s complicated, but I was talking to Anathema about things, and …”

“And?” Aziraphale leaned forward with a kindly look on his face.

Pepper stared at the blade of grass. Crowley sat very still, watching her, some serpentine instinct making him wait.

“Anathema said that Agnes mentioned Adam having three friends, in one of the prophecies, I mean. But she didn’t … she said … she said that Adam’s friends were two boys, and …” Pepper recited the next words like she’d memorised them. “‘One of no persuasion, neither male nor female, none but theirself.’”

… Now that was quite interesting. Crowley gave a sidelong look towards Aziraphale, who looked back at him with equal intrigue in his eyes.

“And you think this person is meant to be you?” Aziraphale’s tone was cautious.

Pepper blinked very quickly, and Crowley was startled to realise that she was blinking back tears.

“No,” she said, doing a very admirable job at keeping her voice steady, “I know it is.”

“Because …” It dawned slowly on Crowley. “Because you’re not a girl, are you?”

Aziraphale made a quiet noise of sudden understanding. A tear slipped down Pepper’s cheek, and her chin wobbled a little, but she still didn’t let out a sound.

“Or a boy?”

Pepper shook her head.

“Do your parents not approve? Human customs, I can never keep up with the sex and gender jamboree, myself,” Crowley joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale added hastily. “As celestial beings we can be quite behind on the cultural conception of gender – but am I quite wrong in thinking this kind of thing is a social taboo in England still?”

Pepper looked up at Aziraphale with a confused expression, tears still rolling down her cheeks. She wiped at them irritably. “Well, of course it is. In the Bible and stuff. Adam and Eve. There wasn’t anyone else, just girls and boys.”

“But why does that bother you? I knew Eve, she wouldn’t’ve had the faintest idea about any of this.”

“ _That’s the point_!” Pepper ripped the grass in her hands to pieces and threw them to the ground. “Angels and demons and Adam and Eve and Heaven and Hell and – oh, it’s all in _twos_ , and it’s all _real_ and it’s not just made-up now, so where do I fit in? It’s not – _I’m_ not real. There’s no place for someone like me.”

Crowley’s mouth hung open. He had no idea how to respond to such a statement. For a precariously long moment, it looked like Aziraphale didn’t either, but then he spoke.

“My dear,” he said softly. “Oh, my dear child. You must know it isn’t like that. Why do you think Crowley and I wanted to avoid the apocalypse? Each side was convinced it could only end in war. And we were too, for quite a while. It was Adam – no, it was _humanity_. You humans, who showed us another way to be. That’s what you _do_ , don’t you see?”

Pepper sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “No.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley helplessly, but Crowley was starting to get it now.

“You come up with … stuff,” he said, shrugging. “You just keep on inventing things. Things beings like us could never even think of. I mean, me and Aziraphale, we look like this because – well, humans invented men, or at least the concept of them. We’re not _actually_ men. Or women. But that doesn’t matter, because we didn’t choose to be like that. We are what we are, but humans … you don’t have to be.”

Aziraphale nodded excitedly. “Exactly! Pepper, you can _choose_. You decide who you are. And if who you are is new, if it never existed before, well then you simply invented something new. Besides which, my dear, between the three of us – what you’re describing isn’t really new at all.”

Pepper’s eyes widened. “It’s – it’s not?”

“Nah, course not!” Crowley started counting on his fingers. “There’s the Native Americans – two-spirit, that’s what they call it, and the Albanians, they call themselves sworn virgins, and – ah, I forget the word – but they’re in the Philippines, I think, and –”

“Hijra! In India,” Aziraphale interrupted. “And the Samoan culture certainly–”

“But they’re all just humans,” Pepper interrupted. “It’s … if they’re human, it came later. It’s not _real_.”

“Pepper, I don’t think you understand what we’re telling you,” Aziraphale says, reaching out to touch her arm. “Humans were _made_ to create. To choose and to invent, to decide things. Is an aeroplane less real for all that it was invented after the creation of birds?”

Pepper looked down. “No.”

Crowley nodded in agreement. “Listen, I reckon you may as well call having an imagination an essential trait for a human. I mean, honestly, I …” Oh, fuck it, Crowley could be honest with a crying kid. He’d deal with the consequences of Aziraphale hearing all this later. “Sometimes I’ve thought about what we’d be like as humans, you know. Me and Aziraphale. But I don’t think we’d have half the imagination your lot do. I mean, wifi, eh? What’s all that about?”

Pepper let out a watery laugh. Crowley very carefully did not look at Aziraphale. He couldn’t actually deal with Aziraphale knowing he’d thought about them as humans more than once.

“I dunno,” Pepper said, “Sounds to me like _imagining_ yourselves as humans _is_ imagination, right?”

Crowley opens his mouth to defend himself, but can’t think of anything to say.

“I’d give you an honorary membership,” Pepper continued brightly. “Or I bet Adam would anyway.” At the mention of Adam, her face fell again.

“Have you considered telling him all this?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley allowed himself to glance over, but Aziraphale’s face was perfectly calm and focused on Pepper alone.

“I dunno,” Pepper answered. “I feel like he wouldn’t get it. And the others, they’re all right, but … I’ve always just been the girl of the group, and I _always_ hated it, but …”

“If he doesn’t accept you for who and what you are, then he’s not your friend. And neither are the others.”

Aziraphale nodded his head. “Crowley’s right, you know. A friend is a friend only when they accept every part of you, even the parts they might not understand at first.”

“Well, yeah, but Adam’s the Antichrist, so doesn’t that mean something?”

Crowley snorted. “He’s a former antichrist, and I dunno about anyone else, but we’d drop him in a heartbeat if he started acting like a prick.”

“ _Crowley_!”

“That doesn’t sound very godfatherly,” Pepper said, frowning. “And he already convinced his parents you’re his godparents, so you’d have to come up with a _really_ good explanation if you stopped talking to him.”

“Well, we were never actually all that good at being godparents to be honest,” Crowley shrugged.

“We really _aren’t_ human, my dear,” Aziraphale added. “Our standards are a little different.”

But Pepper shook her head. “Nah. You’re close enough to human. I mean, I didn’t see any of the other angels and demons at the airport that day, you know? That’s got to mean something. I mean, it was literally just you two, far as I could see. Must be important.”

… Huh. Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, who was looking totally gobsmacked at Pepper’s casual pronouncement. Close enough to human, indeed.

Maybe that _does_ mean something. Or maybe … maybe they could make it mean something.

Maybe they already have.

“Well,” Crowley said, trying to fill the silence. “Anyway. The point is – my point is – Aziraphale?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Erm – Pepper, I really think you ought to just tell Adam how you’re feeling. He is a good boy, under it all. I’m sure he’d understand.”

“Do you think?” Pepper fidgeted nervously with her hands, tearing another blade of grass to shreds. “Only … well, he was the Antichrist, and y’know, with the Bible being real now and all …”

“Ahh, don’t stress about all that, it’s mostly exaggerations of the truth,” Crowley said, waving a hand dismissively. “Honest. Most of Revelations is a bad trip from some mushrooms I gave Johnny.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat in warning, and Crowley shut up.

“Just remember what we said, Pepper. It’s all about humans – what you invent, and what you discover – it’s all as real as the birds in the sky. It’s the very essence of you, and it’s something to take pride in.”

“Okay,” Pepper said shyly. She looked down at the blade of grass in her hand, before setting it down in the dirt once more, with a strange sort of determination in the movement. “I think I’d better get going home now. But …”

“Yes?”

“Can you call me Pep? I’m trying it out, it’s not …” Her voice faltered for a moment.

“Of course, Pep,” Aziraphale said kindly.

“You’re the boss,” Crowley shrugged. “It’s a big thing, changing your name. I used to go by – well, never mind all that.”

Pep shot him a curious look, before pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re gonna tell me about that later,” she muttered, before standing up, brushing off her trousers, and marching away with nary another word for the two of them.

“You know, my dear,” Aziraphale commented, “I think we may have just befriended that child.”

“’Course we did. We’re great with kids.”

There was a beat of silence, during which Crowley decided he wasn’t quite ready to talk about the other thing he’d been thinking about during their conversation. Aziraphale stood up, preparing to leave, but Crowley remained seated next to Agnes Nutter’s grave.

“You go on back to the Bentley,” he said, waving Aziraphale away when Aziraphale stopped to inquire if he was all right. “I just need a minute.”

“Well … if you’re sure,” Aziraphale said, sounding confused.

He left for the Bentley with Crowley’s reassurances that he was just fine. The second he was gone, however, Crowley scrambled onto his hands and knees and glared accusingly at the ground beneath his feet.

“Right,” he muttered. “If I get discorporated, I’ll be pretty severely pissed off, you old witch.”

With that, he did something he definitely shouldn’t have been able to do. He reached down, into the earth, grasping for something – anything he could find, _hoping_ he was right. It took a few seconds of blind reaching, his fingers brushing stones and dirt, but then – the brush of something crinkly against his skin –

He clenched his fist around the paper and brought it to the surface, triumphantly holding it before him.

“Ha!”

In Crowley’s hand was a prophecy of Agnes Nutter, and he was certain that it would explain _everything_. What had happened to him and Aziraphale, what precisely they had become, and whether it was possible they would ever go back to the way they were. He unfolded it carefully, though there was really no need. The paper was being held together because Crowley was _making_ it stay together, just as he’d _made_ it exit the coffin it was being stored in because Crowley couldn’t be bothered doing a proper grave robbery at that particular moment.

On the page, however, was written only a single stanza.

And when Crowley saw it, he frowned, groaned, fought the urge to scrunch it up –

And finally, he laughed.

 

~

 

They took the scenic route home.

For the first time in a long time, Crowley didn’t feel the need to go particularly fast. He drove at a comfortable pace, while Aziraphale prattled at his side about how proud he was of young Pep, how far she’d come in the time he’d known her (which Crowley did not point out was barely any time at all,) and how dearly he hoped that Adam and Pep would work things out. Crowley nodded and hummed and made all the appropriate comments, but his mind was on other matters.

Eventually, he stopped at the last park outside London which could reliably be called a bit of wilderness. The flowers there took one look at his glare from the window of the Bentley and straightened up, blooming with all their might. The sun was setting, bathing the world in golden light. Aziraphale looked around as they slowed, and trailed off mid-sentence.

“Where are we, my dear?”

“Dunno,” Crowley answered truthfully. “Just liked the look of it.” He stepped out, walking around to open the door for Aziraphale, who was still looking apprehensive.

“Come on,” Crowley said with a grin. “Honestly. I just thought it was a good spot.”

“Yes, but for _what_?” Aziraphale muttered as he stepped out.

“Ah, you’ll see.”

They walked until they found a nice enough bench, not unlike the benches in St. James’s park. No ducks to be found, but still, a lovely view of the sunset. Nobody bothered them – Crowley made sure of that, projecting an aura he’d come to think of fondly as his own personal brand of _don’t-fuck-with-me_.

“Well,” Aziraphale said eventually. “Is this all you wanted to show me?”

“No,” Crowley said quietly. “I’ve been thinking about it, and … angel, I honestly don’t care what we are.”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

Crowley turned to him with what he hoped was a grin, but probably came across as a hopelessly fond smile. “I don’t! I really don’t. What difference does it make?”

“Well, it –” Aziraphale sputtered for a moment. “It – of course it matters, we can’t just – and it’s not as if we could be something _new_ –”

“Why not? Maybe we are. It’s like Pep said, we’re the only angel and demon in the world to have defied both Heaven and Hell. We chose the humans. We can be a bit of them, a bit of demon, a bit of angel … mixed up all together, that’s something new.”

Aziraphale stared at him, doubt still lingering in his eyes. “But … we can’t,” he protested weakly. “We can’t just be something new. It’s not … there’s two sides, there always have been, and it’s not like we’re _really_ human.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, the angel he’d marked out as his long ago, however hopeless, however jaded he might have been at the time. Just then, he was feeling quite a bit of hope trickling through him, in a way he hadn’t felt in – years, at least.

“We’re on our side,” he said simply.

He saw the exact moment it clicked in Aziraphale’s head, what Crowley meant by that.

“Oh,” whispered Aziraphale.

Crowley heard Agnes’s words echoing in his head as he leaned in. They danced in merry circles as if to chide him for taking so long as he raised a hand to brush Aziraphale’s cheek. But when he finally kissed Aziraphale, all thoughts but the sensation of Aziraphale’s lips against his own vanished. There was no Hell, nor Heaven, nor even Earth. There was only Aziraphale – Aziraphale’s gentle intake of breath, Aziraphale’s cheek under his hand, Aziraphale’s responding warmth, his hand at the back of Crowley’s neck.

And Crowley understood that all of it, together, was more than enough for him.

 

 

~

 

_Prophecy [uncounted]_

_Of_

_Agnes Nutter, Witch,_

Found crumpled in the scattered leaves over the grave of the aforementioned _._

 

“Thou art as he is,

And he is as thou art,

For thou art his,

And he is thine.

Kiʃs him, thou old foole!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter turned out to be so long lmao. I hope you enjoyed!! And I hope no one was let down by the ending, I certainly had a Point to make as a nonbinary person myself about choices and arbitrary limitations and how who you are might never fit any convenient label, even if you're an actual celestial being with a predetermined purpose, but I know the mystery was kinda built up SO who knows if I was successful.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr.](https://gallantrejoinder.tumblr.com/)
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> Please comment if you enjoyed!!


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